


A Dinner in Denmark (That Means So Much More)

by celtic7irish



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale as Raphael (sort of), Crowley as Raphael (sort of), Fluff, God's Ineffable plan, It's just a dinner date, M/M, Soulmate AU (sort of), really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: And so it was that the demons came into being, spawned from the hearts of angels.  Among them was a demon who would eventually go by the name of Anthony Crowley.  Torn from the tortured heart of the Archangel Raphael, he would never remember how he came to be, for Raphael had ceased to exist as he once had.  Instead, he was remade, now two parts of a whole, two pieces of a soul that might, someday, meet again, if luck permitted.





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Like_a_Virgil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Like_a_Virgil/gifts).

> I hope that you enjoy this little fic I wrote. It is probably really far off the mark of what you wanted, but I hope it at least touches on things that you like.

Over the centuries, there have been many theories regarding the meaning of having a soulmate. Assuming, of course, that one believed they even existed to begin with. After all, it was hardly reasonable to expect that any person could be incomplete in such a manner, destined to perhaps someday find their other half, the person that could make them whole.

Indeed, the whole concept is laughable. As it applies to humans, that is. Created in God’s image, humans are meant to live as they please, to love as they wish, and to choose their own fates, to walk a path of their own making.

And yet, despite all of the arguments and counter-arguments, soulmates do exist. Two halves of a single soul, bound together by the threads of fate, utterly necessary to one another. 

As to how such a thing came to be, let us explain. When the Archangel Lucifer questioned God, when he turned on Her and Her Ineffable Plan, he was cast down into Hell. Forced from the beauty of Heaven, Lucifer dared to try and take the angels with him, angels whose hearts had been sown with the seeds of doubt and mistrust, twisted with confusion and fear. God saw this, and saw fit to purge the angels of their sins. And so, in her ineffable wisdom, God severed the wickedness from the angels, cast them down to Hell where they would continue to do Evil by tempting Mankind. And the goodness of the angels? That, she kept for Herself, Good to combat Evil, Right to conquer Wrong, Kindness to triumph over Hate.

And so it was that the demons came into being, spawned from the hearts of angels. Among them was a demon who would eventually go by the name of Anthony Crowley. Torn from the tortured heart of the Archangel Raphael, he would never remember how he came to be, for Raphael had ceased to exist as he once had. Instead, he was remade, now two parts of a whole, two pieces of a soul that might, someday, meet again, if luck permitted.

Crowley did not believe in luck or fate, but that’s a different story, for another time, perhaps. But for  _ this _ story, this is where it all began, when the Archangel Raphael was divided, his treacherous heart thrown to Hell and remade into a demon to tempt the spirits of men, and his giving soul born again as an angel whose duty was to heal those which the Fallen had defiled.

Then again, perhaps that’s not what this story is about, after all. Perhaps this is simply a story of how an angel and a demon found one another and became each other’s entire world.

You be the judge of that.


	2. A Dinner in Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a few footnotes here. If you click on the numbers, it'll take you down to the footnote, and then there's a link back up to where you left off.

Aziraphale sighed quietly, careful to not be overheard by his current patron, who had been puttering around the bookshop for nearly three hours now. Aziraphale rather wished the man would just get on with it and be about his business, as Aziraphale would like to close up shop and settle down to a nice cup of tea and a bit of light reading. He’d just gotten in a new shipment of some very rare books, including a copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio.

The phone rang just then, and Aziraphale hurried to answer it, grateful for the distraction. Perhaps when he was done on the phone, his patron would have left the shop, thereby allowing Aziraphale to avoid the unpleasantness of asking him if he could please leave so he could close the shop.

“I’m afraid we are very definitely closed,” he said, mostly certain that the little lie[1] was hardly a cause for fretting.

“And yet you are still there,” a familiar, very welcome voice answered him. Aziraphale found himself smiling in spite of himself.

“Crowley,” he greeted, peering around the corner to check on his customer, who was idly flipping through a very rare, very delicate copy of Tamerlane and Other Poems. The angel winced. “Look, I’ve got a customer,” he admitted quietly. “I imagine he’ll be finished shortly, however, so you needn’t worry.”

“Uh huh,” Crowley drawled doubtfully. “Look, I found this really fancy restaurant, just opened last night, and I thought you might want to grab a bite. I made reservations.” Not that one truly needed a reservation when one could just miracle oneself’s way in, but it was the principle of the thing, really.  


"I’d like that,” Aziraphale agreed. “But, uh, I’m afraid I can’t just _leave_ right now.” Not with a human in the shop.

“Then I suppose I will just have to come to you, angel,” Crowley said, hanging up before Aziraphale could get another word in edgewise. The angel gave the phone a puzzled look before setting the headset carefully back in its cradle and turning around to see if the gentleman might be encouraged to, perhaps, spend the remainder of his evening elsewhere, and leave Aziraphale in peace.

“Sir, I’m afraid that I really must insist that we’re closed,” Aziraphale started apologetically. He frowned at his patron, who wasn’t looking at him. The book he’d been skimming through was on the floor, spread open. “Really,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly, “if you’re going to be so careless with such precious books, I’m rather afraid I must ask you to leave.”

_“You really should lissssssten to him, you know,”_ a familiar voice added, a snaky sibilance to his words. Aziraphale bit back a smile, even as pleasure flowed through him at the sight of the large black serpent, gorgeous red underbelly shining in the dim light of the bookshop. 

The patron stumbled backwards, catching himself on a table and scattering the books there before turning around an all but running out of the shop. Aziraphale winced; his poor books! Still, one must be polite at all times, and so he called out after the man, “Ah, thanks for coming! Have a pleasant night, won’t you?” His fingers twitched as he added a minor miracle; the man would have no recollection of why he had so urgently needed to leave the bookshop.

“Do you really have to be so…so you?” Crowley demanded grumpily, shifting into his more human form, brilliant orange eyes amused. 

“Well, it would look odd to have a bookshop that nobody ever visited,” Aziraphale answered vaguely, smiling at his friend. Crowley gave him a look of disbelief, and Aziraphale’s grin widened.

“You are an odd one, angel,” Crowley murmured, stepping forward into Aziraphale’s space.

Aziraphale made a considering noise, looking up at the demon. “You are a bit strange yourself, for a demon,” he countered, his voice gone soft and expectant. Crowley didn’t keep him waiting, leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses to Aziraphale’s mouth in greeting. The angel hummed happily, returning the sentiment.

Ever since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, Aziraphale had realized that life was both precious and short. Perhaps not as short for an angel and a demon as for a human, but when one considered that Heaven and Hell had tried to destroy them with Hellfire and Holy Water, he had come to the startling realization that he loved Crowley, and had done so for quite a while, whether he’d been willing to admit it or not. He actually wasn’t certain that he’d ever truly considered it for quite long enough to give it a name, either, that draw he felt whenever Crowley was nearby. Or when he wasn’t. Aziraphale’s thoughts on the demon had very little to do with said demon’s actual presence.

Regardless, Aziraphale had decided that since he loved Crowley, and since he was pretty sure that Crowley loved him[2], then there was really no reason to waste any more time dancing around the problem, as it were. And so here they found themselves, friends and lovers and beholden to neither Heaven nor Hell, free to do as they pleased, at least for a short while, until the head offices rallied and made another attempt, but hopefully that wouldn’t be for centuries yet.

Aziraphale smiled up at his companion. “I believe you said something about a reservation?” he demurred, his eyes twinkling.

Crowley chuckled, miracling a pair of sunglasses and putting them on, hiding his gorgeous eyes. “I did,” he agreed, cocking his head to the side slightly. “How do you feel about Denmark?”

Aziraphale considered that. “I haven’t been to Denmark since the mid-nineteenth century,” he admitted. “Søren Kierkegaard had some truly fascinating insight on humans and fate and the like.”[3] Kierkegaard had given Aziraphale quite a bit to think about, too, when it came to looking at how humans approached life in general.

“Yes, well, a friend of mine, Rene Redzepi, opened a restaurant there. Goes by the name of Noma. Rather unoriginal, if you ask me,” Crowley mused. “And I thought that perhaps you might enjoy a bit of Nordic food.” His posture was casual, expression schooled into a look of indifference, but Aziraphale knew that if he took off the sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes would be both hopeful and worried. As if he had any need to worry. Aziraphale had never before refused to try a new cuisine; he certainly wasn’t about to start now.

“It sounds lovely,” he said with a smile, reaching out to take Crowley’s hand, enjoying the shivery tingle that flowed up his arm before settling somewhere in his chest. Crowley’s long fingers tightened around his, and the demon tugged him close, pulling him forward until Aziraphale’s head was tucked neatly under his chin.

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, a sort of longing in his voice, and Aziraphale frowned, pushing away. He couldn’t read Crowley’s mind, not really, but he could tell that the demon’s thoughts had taken a bad turn.

“What is it, dearest?” he asked, hoping the endearment might soothe any ruffled feathers.

Crowley shook his head, giving Aziraphale a rueful smile. “Did you know, angel?” he asked, confusing Aziraphale. “That we were meant to be together?” he clarified, tugging Aziraphale back into the curve of his body. “That if it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve just sat back and let the world go hang itself?”[4]

Aziraphale shook his head, wrapping his arms around Crowley and letting the demon transport them to a darkened street before answering his question, knowing that Crowley would let it drop if he asked, but wanting to tell him. “I’ve known since the Garden,” he murmured, considering. “I mean, I didn’t truly know, of course, but even back then, it was like you were a missing part of me.” He considered that for a moment. “Or perhaps I was a missing part of you. After all, you were an angel before you fell.”[5]

Crowley smiled, linking fingers with Aziraphale and pulling him towards the welcoming doorways of the restaurant. “Well, whatever it is that brought us here, I’m glad for it,” he said fervently.[6]

Aziraphale nodded. “Me, too, my dear,” he agreed.  


* * *

1it wasn’t even a lie, really, more of a slight falsehood, if anything.[return to text]

2The demon had been an angel before he’d Fallen, after all, had he not? Therefore, it stood to reason that he was perfectly capable of love. [return to text]

3Søren Aabye Kierkegaard was a Danish philosopher, theologian, poet, social critic and religious author who is widely considered to be the first existentialist philosopher.[return to text]

4He wouldn’t have, because despite any arguments to the contrary, Crowley was really quite fond of the humans.[return to text]

5Which angel, nobody truly knew. God didn’t go around handing out a List, and of all the Fallen, only Lucifer had kept His original name. Also, Aziraphale truly had no idea just how close to the Truth he really was.[return to text]

6Whether by “here”, Crowley meant to Earth or to Tadfield or a small bookshop that’s never open during proper hours or to Denmark, not even he was entirely certain. But that hardly matters now, does it?[return to text]


	3. The Fate of Her Children

The flowers in front of Buckingham Palace, on the outskirts of St. James Park, never failed to please those who laid eyes on them. Even in the midst of winter, the gardens were laid out in such a manner as to be pleasing to the eyes. 

But it was spring now, the early days of May, and the flowers had begun to bloom in a riot of colors. Daffodils and crocuses shared their beds with bluebells. In another month, the roses would start to flower, innocence giving way to passion.

The human female sitting on one of the nearby benches, admiring the flowers and the bees that worshipped them, hummed an aimless little tune under her breath. A moment later, a human male seated himself next to her.

“Are you certain that it is wise to allow them to continue to do as they please?” the gentleman asked, staring straight ahead.

The woman gave a small smile. “Are you questioning Me?” she asked slyly. The denial was instantaneous, as God had known would happen. The angels were always so eager to please, to serve Good.

“Tell me, Metatron,” She said, sitting back. “Do you remember the True History of the Archangels, and the fate that befell so many of them?” Gabriel and Michael yet Remained, but so many of her Children had been divided, torn by their own indecision.

Metatron nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “The Archangels that had followed Lucifer were cast out, sent to the depths of Hell so that they could never again rise against You or Heaven.”

God smiled. “I see that even angels have lost Knowledge of the Truth,” She said, tossing out a handful of breadcrumbs for the nearby ducks, who cared only for the food tossed their way, and neither knew nor cared just Who it was that was feeding them.

“It does not matter now, I suppose,” She continued. “Perhaps it is better that neither the angels nor the demons remember.” If they could not remember what had been taken from them, then there might yet be hope, that the two halves could be made whole again, even while remaining themselves. Contrary to popular belief, God’s Ineffable Plan did not account for everything. Just the Important Things.

God stood, satisfied with what She had seen, and Metatron stood with Her. “Come now,” She said. “It is time to return Home.” She had seen what She had come to see, and the rest would be up to them. And, perhaps, the small handful of humans that understood what they were and had befriended them anyhow.

Yes, God had chosen well when she had sent Aziraphale to Earth to guard the Apple Tree and to protect the humans in the Garden of Eden. While some may call him a mistake, God knew better. Aziraphale was something rare. He had something that none of the other angels had. He loved with everything that he was, loved fiercely and without end. And the demon Crowley? Well, he was a demon that knew how to love. And what could be more Worthy than that?

Yes, regardless of where they had come from, or where they would end up, those two would do just fine. And God’s Ineffable Plan?

Well, they’d be there for That, too.


End file.
